


Unveil

by kyrilu



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gellert Grindelwald is not portrayed by Johnny Depp, Complicated Relationships, Dreams, Dreamsharing, M/M, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10385577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: Imprisoned by MACUSA, Grindelwald immerses himself in the Seer's Trance, an unconscious state where dreams and possible futures intermingle.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Приоткрывая завесу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024319) by [kier1926](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kier1926/pseuds/kier1926)



> [This](http://empireonline.media/jpg/50/0/0/640/480/aspectfit/0/0/0/0/0/0/c/features/5673d70437ad8f560b0f04ae/night03.jpg) is my current mental fancast of Grindelwald, by the way. One of the possible futures I've wrote about in this fic was inspired by [this prompt](http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=526795#cmt526795) on the FB kink meme.

When Newt Scamander spoke _Revelio,_ he revealed a man with golden hair that curled around his shoulders and the back of his neck, his blue eyes cold and angry.

* * *

 

They put him in a cell of reinforced enchanted glass. When Gellert set his hand against the surface of it, he could feel the power humming underneath. There was a hint of dark magic in the interlacing, and that made him smile, because that was Americans for you, all up on their high horses about their heroic cutting edge individualism, but when it came down to it, they were a mishmash of cultures and magic and ideologies, dark and light and otherwise.

He wished he could have had the chance to explore New York longer properly, because he had delved into the American underworld to make a few contacts, meeting a variety of people and creatures, and it had genuinely been an intriguing experience. Here, in America, many were desperate to hear his word because of the constraints of MACUSA’s laws: Rappaport’s Law was a chain, a limitation, keeping wizards and witches in the shadows and prioritizing secrecy over all else.

Gellert made himself focus on the pressing issue at hand. MACUSA would come for him soon, when their interrogators were prepared and their Veritaserum was brewed. He could resist their attempts—laughable, futile, and pathetic—but he had better use of his time than that.

He made his way to the small cot at the corner of his cell. He settled himself down onto the rough blankets, closed his eyes, and he drew upon his Inner Eye.

* * *

 

The Seer’s Trance was an old practice. Gellert had discovered it sometime during his search for the Hallows, chasing down old magical lore about death and things like death.

According to the Tale of the Three Brothers, Cadmus Peverell felt that there was a Veil between death and life. But there were magical theorists who spoke of other Veils.

The Veil between dreams and waking. The Veil between the past and the present and the future. On some level, they were one and the same. Prophecies expressed themselves through unconsciousness—through visions and dreams—and with practice and concentration with his Inner Eye, Gellert could sink himself into a comatose state, crossing the Veil from this reality and this time.

It was a murky and uncertain business. He saw fragments of dreams and precognitive possibilities of the future. Nothing was defined nor differentiated; it was merely a stream of images and events, and he knew not to trust anything he saw.

Of course, he tried to piece things together as best he could, but it still led to missteps. The Obscurial being the most recent mistake…

He thought of Credence Barebone, swirling among shadows, and felt the rush of regret so strong that he could laugh.

Gellert had him. He had held the Obscurial in his arms and just about claimed him as his own, and Credence was trusting and willing to do whatever Gellert asked of him. All it took was the right soft touch, the right gentle words—yet Gellert had not seen, he did not know, and Credence was dead.

This was what he felt like when he fell into the Seer’s Trance: bitter regret, as powerful as the time he had walked away from Albus and he had not followed.

* * *

 

The Seer’s Trance often bent around his thoughts, ushering him into visions related to what he was pondering over at the moment. So of course it showed him Credence Barebone, and Gellert was left wondering whether it was his imagination, his own hazy dream, or a future that now could never be.

Credence Barebone was dressed in sharp black wizard robes. His hair was long and pulled up into a ponytail. He stood on the balcony of a tower, arms crossed over the railing.

He looked nothing like the scared boy who Gellert had met in alleyways, his shoulders in a slouch and his hand covered in welts.

“Credence, are you all right?” a voice said from behind him, and Gellert recognized Tina Goldstein, joining Credence on the balcony with an uncertain smile. She looked different as well—instead of her blue coat, she was wearing the standard American Auror dull brown uniform coat, hat affixed on her head at an angle.

“I’m…I’m fine, Tina,” Credence said. He didn’t turn to look at her, his gaze instead fixed on the cloud grey sky.

“You don’t have to do this.” Tina’s voice was soft but firm. “You’re not an Auror. You’re not a weapon.”

“What else,” Credence said, “am I supposed to do? God made me like this.”

Tina shook her head. “I know you don’t believe in any of that now. Dumbledore told Newt that you don’t pray anymore. You’ve just been sticking your head in books and learning magic from him as fast as you can.”

“You’re storming Nurmengard tomorrow, Tina. Aurors from across the world.” Credence made a motion with his hand, indicating the scope of the operation. “I’m coming with you.”

Credence’s eyes were dark flecks of black, the Obscurus flickering at the edge of his pupils. Gellert could sense immediately that he was powerful. More than that, Credence had his powers under control for the most part.

It was an exhilarating and beautiful sight. Credence still had that haunted broken air about him, but he held himself with a sort of confidence that Gellert had never seen before.

You could have been mine, Gellert thought.

Tina interrupted Gellert’s internal musings, telling Credence, “Dumbledore doesn’t want you to go.”

“Albus,” Credence said, “doesn’t even know if he’s going or not himself. If he stays, he stays, and at least I’ll be there to finish things. I think it has to be either him or me, because Gellert---“

Credence stopped, and flushed at the familiar use of the first name. Watching within his Seer’s Trance, Gellert found himself feeling…something…as well. Tina Goldstein was staring at Credence.

“Grindelwald,” Credence murmured. “Grindelwald is expecting either one or both of us.”

Slowly, Tina said, “Newt said that he’s been trying to get to you.”

Credence shrugged one of his shoulders, his face angled away from her. “He’s sent people after me to attack me and kidnap me. He’s owled letters filled with more false promises. He’s still upset that he was close to getting an Obscurial and I got away. His _miracle_.”

He laughed around the last word, a huff of his breath.

Tina didn’t say anything, only looked at him with obvious concern etched on her face.

“I’m not tempted, Tina,” Credence said, more solemnly. “He’s already tempted me, the devil in the alleyway, like all the stories that my mother warned me about, and then he showed his true self. It was all lies.”

“Do you want to kill him?” she asked. “Or are you hoping he’ll kill you? I know you’re not a kid any more, Credence, but this isn’t just your war—“

Credence’s eyes snapped up, and he was about to respond until there was a shout behind him.

It was another Auror, this time wearing the British style of uniform. “Ma’am,” he said to Tina, in deference. “Albus Dumbledore left for Nurmengard ahead of schedule. He owled us that he wants to duel Grindelwald by himself today. His letter told us not to follow until tomorrow.”

Credence was very still. Tina, on the other hand, adjusted her hat in a resigned, restless fashion.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll wait.”

Credence gazed upward at the cloudy grey sky once again and he seemed to come to a decision. He said quietly, “Fawkes,” and suddenly, the fiery phoenix materialized, alighting on Credence’s shoulders.

“Tina,” Credence said, “I’m sorry.”

He tipped himself backward off the balcony, his arms outstretched, falling through the air with his back toward the earth. His dark robes billowed as he fell, his ponytailed hair rippling in the wind. Tina called after him—a cry of his name—and as she did, Credence held out his hand and Fawkes dug his talons into his skin.

Credence transformed. He whirled into darkness, his eyes glowing a luminescent white and his body disintegrating into wisps of shadow.

Fawkes ignited at the same time, his feathers catching aflame. They were wrapped around each other, fire and shadow, and Gellert realized that Fawkes’ presence was no random occurrence: there was something about him that helped stabilize Credence in his Obscurus form. It was likely Fawkes partially stifled the parasite, keeping it from devouring Credence whole.

Fire and shadow was old elemental magic. Who knew that Credence Barebone could be aware of the theory of it and turn it into an art form?

The dancing shape of light that was both Credence and Fawkes climbed up in the sky, a storm unto itself, and they disappeared into the horizon.

Abruptly, Gellert felt himself tugged out of the vision.

* * *

 

After that, it was simply flashes. Memory or dream or divination. It was a muddle of sensations.

A red haired boy with spectacles, giving him a small smile. A flash of green light aimed at Gellert and he was laughing, laughing. Gellert holding the Elder Wand in one hand, the Resurrection Stone in another, and the Cloak of Invisibility set across his shoulders. Then there was a dark haired young man with bright green eyes, a slash of a lightning scar on his forehead, who looked at Gellert with surprise—here, this time, it was the young man who possessed the Hallows—and then he shook his head, grinned, and put a finger to his lips as if telling Gellert to keep a secret.

Variations upon the universe. Gellert could not keep count of them, and they shifted and melded and changed at every turn of a minute.

Nobody from the outside world could awaken Gellert from the Trance, no matter what spell or potion they attempted. Only he could choose to wake himself up, and that was unfortunate news for whatever MACUSA thought they had planned for him.

He gambled on them relenting upon keeping him alive, administering him potions so his body would not die. They knew he was too valuable—he had a vast knowledge of contacts within his network—and MACUSA would be scrambling to find methods to revive him.

It bought him time to figure out his next move. He would let the visions dictate his actions, and he would have to be careful this time around.

He thought about Credence Barebone, robed in jet black, his eyes steely and determined, and the way he inadvertently said Gellert’s name.

Gellert told himself that he wasn’t mourning.

* * *

 

The next vision was of a woman with blond hair, her eyes a chilling blue. She had one hand tucked under chin, and the other hand held a wand that drew out Arithmancy equations on a blackboard in front of her.

A knock at the door startled her out of her studies, and Gellert saw himself—a little older, grey in his hair—peering at the woman with a kind of unexpected fondness.

“Still hard at work?” asked Gellert in the vision.

“I am,” she affirmed, tucking her wand away. “But I can always make time for you, my lord.”

Vision-Gellert grimaced slightly. “I beg you not to call me that. You don’t call Albus that as well, do you?”

"Only to rile him up, same as you,” the witch said. She flashed him a smile, and she took a seat at the desk at the front of the room, summoning a chair for Gellert to sit across from her.

“So what brings you here?” she asked. “Suggestions for the Hogwarts curriculum? Relationship troubles again? I don’t exist to settle every one of your quarrels with Albus, Gellert.”

Another grimace from Gellert. “We’ve separated again for the moment, yes. Another ideology misalignment over what to do with the Muggles. I expect we’ll figure it out eventually.”

The witch sighed and waved her hand, presenting a pot of tea out of thin air. “Ah. A consolation visit it is, then. Drink your tea. Air your grievances. Auntie Ariana’s listening.”

Gellert, watching the vision, thought: Ariana Dumbledore. Alive and sane.

Vision-Gellert, in the meanwhile, reached for the teacup and cradled it between his palms, his forehead creased with concern. “I always worry that our arguments might end up going too far, Ariana. Albus has his faction of support and I have mine, and I don’t wish to have a coup or a civil war on our hands. It’s already difficult dealing with Muggles, never mind our own people.”

“He’s right on some things,” Ariana said. “You’re too harsh on Muggles, you know. You can’t expect them to immediately get in line and rapidly deprive them of any privileges. This process takes time.”

“He’s too soft on them,” Gellert retorted back.

“Which is why the world needs both of you working together and finding out the right compromises,” Ariana said. The line sounded familiar, like she was used to having this same conversation with both of them, over and over again.

Vision-Gellert was silent, thoughtful. He took a sip of his tea, and then nodded. “Indeed. Sometimes I can’t help but think of the worst case scenarios at times. I suppose the possibilities of the Seer’s Trance, infinitely implausible and fallible, gets to the point where it drives me nearly mad.”

"I don't think my brother will force you out and make you live on an island in the form of a goat, no,” Ariana said wryly.

“I massively regret informing you of that one.”

“Who knew that befriending a Seer could be so amusing?” she asked, with a blithe expression on her face, her eyes brightening in the same way Albus’ did when he was mischievous, slyly twinkling.

Obviously attempting to recover his dignity, Gellert continued, “I did intend to handle business here. The Obscurial that we recovered in New York about two years ago—?”

“He’s doing well,” Ariana said. “I’ve been having him around as my assistant and I’m tutoring him myself—he’s too old to be a regular student and I thought he would prefer this arrangement. He’s a quick learner, though he’s rather quiet.”

"He’s happy here?”

“He is. He’s come a remarkably far way for someone from his upbringing. If you’re here for the reason I think you’re here, you must ask him yourself, Gellert.”

At that, Ariana cleared her throat and said, “Credence.”

A head poked out from doorway of the office attached to the classroom, and Gellert blinked, clearly unaware of the third person right nearby. To his credit, Credence looked abashed for eavesdropping, walking up toward Ariana’s desk with an uneasy shuffle in his step.

“Credence,” Ariana said, “this is Lord Grindelwald. He has a job proposition for you. You don’t have to go unless you want to. I’ll certainly miss you, but you deserve to explore the magical world outside of Hogwarts if that is your desire.”

“A job?” Credence repeated. “I’m not qualified, sir. I’m only into two years of magical schooling.”

"You're an Obscurial," Gellert said. “You’re likely the most powerful one in existence, second to Ariana, and I know that I can’t drag her away from being Hogwarts Headmistress for my security detail.”

"You want me to be your bodyguard.”

“Something like that,” Gellert agreed. “I can offer you training, from myself and others in my inner circle, and you’ll eventually play a role by my side if you find a place in the hierarchy. Politics can be cutthroat and dangerous in ways even I can’t predict.”

Credence was quiet, deep in thought, his head half bowed. Then he raised his head up and said, “I remember you. Two years ago, you saved me and—and brought me here. I owe you a debt.”

Gellert offered him a curved smile. “Wise of you to keep in mind life debts, Credence Barebone. But I promise you, this is entirely your choice. I don’t wish to force you into service.”

“No,” Credence said, firm, and his dark eyes met Gellert’s blue ones. “I accept your offer, my lord. You have my life and my protection.”

There was a sharp spark of magic in the air, and Ariana swore loudly and colorfully, shattering the moment.

“Gellert,” she said, “please don’t settle life debts in my classroom ever again. The magic interferes with the experiments I’ve set up in my office.”

* * *

 

That was...different.

Gellert shook off the vision as if he was arising from murky fog. He had seen Ariana while in the Trance before, of course, different paths of how she could die or live, but he had never seen himself become that close with her. And Credence Barebone becoming a fixture in his visions now seemed like a new startling fact of life, just like how Albus was.

The difference being that Credence was dead and all of it was impossible now.

It was as if the Trance was torturing him, giving him visions that suited his current anguished mindset. Gellert had lost his freedom and the Obscurial in one fell swoop—of course he could rectify the former problem, but it did rankle, knowing that his first imprisonment was due to a scatterbrained magizoologist student of Albus.’

Show me something else, he told the abyss of dreams and prophecies.

* * *

 

He opened his eyes to a field of flowers. It contained rows and rows of sparking red petals, and he identified them as periculids.

“Advanced illusion magic,” said Credence Barebone. Like the first vision, he wore black and his hair was long, but it was not tied into a ponytail; it cascaded down over his shoulders in waves.

He was talking to Gellert, both of them sitting down on the apparent grass of the meadow, staring out at the flickering false blue sky.

They were both considerably older—Gellert seemed to be about sixty years of age, and Credence about forty. Gellert had a wild white beard and Credence had a dark neatly trimmed one.

"Albus owled me a book on how to do it," Credence said.

“Of course he did,” Gellert said. “And yet he hasn’t bothered to visit.” Gellert scowled and waved his hand, and the periculids and the sky winked out of existence, as if they had never been.

Underneath the illusion was a prison cell. A plate of glass divided where Credence and Gellert sat. Gellert wore a wrinkled grey jumpsuit.

“If you want to see the sky and flowers so badly, then leave,” Gellert said.

“I am not so stupid as to leave you unguarded,” Credence said. “I’m not a boy any more, Gellert.”

“So you aren’t,” Gellert replied. “But you are not prison guard material.”

“I’m an Obscurial and the International Confederation of Wizards thought it would be enough for me to be here, along with Nurmengard’s natural defenses.”

“They still think it’s terribly clever, don’t they, locking me up in my own fortress.”

“I counted seventeen uses of the word ironic or irony in the newspapers before I got bored.”

Gellert made a sound that could be a laugh. It made Credence smile, who suddenly looked so terribly young. Then Credence looked at Gellert and said softly, “Go into that Seer’s Trance of yours, Gellert. I know you want to sleep. You don’t have to be keeping me company when you can see better futures.”

A pause. “What do you think I’ll see?”

“I don’t know,” Credence said, settling closer against the glass with his head leaning against it. “Taking over the world with Albus Dumbledore. Discovering a thirteenth use of dragon’s blood. Deciding against world domination and running Jacob Kowalski’s bakery chain with him.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you.”

“I’m right here,” Credence said in a whisper, but by then, Gellert was out cold, immersed in his Seer’s Trance.

In the darkness of the cell, Credence brought the illusion back. The fiery red flowers and the sky. He looked at them for a long time before he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

“What is this place?”

Gellert found himself face to face with Credence Barebone in a world of white, the previous vision having faded and replaced with emptiness.

Credence here was young again, looking the same as Gellert saw him last, hair in an awkward bowl cut. But his bearing was more like the other selves in Gellert’s visions.

“It’s called the Seer’s Trance,” Gellert said. In the past, he had spoken to ghosts like these in the Trance, his mother or Ariana Dumbledore, his imagination providing specters and phantoms for him. “It’s a place where dreams and prophecies are created.”

“You called yourself Mr. Graves before, but you--you look different now. It was a disguise by magic.”

“My name is Gellert Grindelwald.”

“That’s what Mr. Scamander told me,” Credence said. “I followed him on his ship to England and he explained what happened. But I keep having these funny dreams.”

Gellert found his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t hoping, that was absurd--

“I’m not scared of you anymore,” Credence said in a low voice. “I’m more powerful than you. I’ve seen myself kill you, or rule by your side. I don’t think I’m scared of myself, either. I know that whatever it is, whatever I am, it can be controlled.”

Gellert nodded, slowly. He did not understand how Credence could be here, because he was certainly no Seer himself. But this, at least, was another future coming to being.

Dreams and prophecies swept around them, a whirlpool of what-could-be, what-could-have-been, and here, Credence and Gellert talked.

 


End file.
